Star Trek The Next Generation: Shore Leave
by TritonAuthor24
Summary: The crew of the U.S.S. Enterpise NCC1701 E has just put in for two weeks of undisturbed shore leave at Deep Space Six. There, the commanding male officers have challenged the commanding female officers to a series of games and sports. Please Review!
1. Chapter One: Long Overdue

STAR TREK THE NEXT GENERATION: SHORE LEAVE

Chapter One: Long Overdue

Captain Jean-Luc Picard flexed his hands tiredly. He stared daydreamily at them, a sense of ageing creeping up on him. He could remember a time when these hands appeared strong, muscular, and manly. The skin was smooth and fit, the markings upon them crisp and clear. Though now his hands were wrinkled and looked far older. The skin appeared no longer fit, rather, "baggy" and worn-down. The markings were now faded, his fingers thin and spindly. He sighed exapseratedly. They even _felt_ old.

"Captain?" said a familiar voice to his left. He looked up, torn from his trance, and turned to see the precious, gorgeous features of the ship's counselor, Deanna Troi. "Captain, are you all right?"

Picard flashed a fake smile and nodded, though he knew it to be in futility. The Betazoid, while being able to sense emotions, knew him well enough anyways; she could tell something the matter and would persist till he opened up. "Yes, of course," he said in a false-happy tone and turned to face in front of him. A dull, gray, lined wall appeared before him. "Data," he said, signaling the pale-skinned android at ops to turn around in his seat, awaiting his orders, "put something on the main viewer. That wall is depressing."

"Aye, sir," came the once-monotonous, once-robotic, now _human_ized voice. He punched up a view of the stars streaming past on the viewscreen and returned to manning his station. "Is that satisfactory?" he asked.

"No," Picard said agitatedly, a bit harder than he had at first intended. Commander William T. Riker now took notice and exchanged a meaningful glance with Lieutenant-Commander Worf. _Though you'd think it would be_, he thought. "No, never mind, Data. I'll be in my ready-room."

"Aye, sir," Data said. "Notify me whence we arrive," Picard instructed him. Data made a mental note in his positronic brain – a note that would never, in his entire life, be forgotten, unless consciously wiped.

Picard swiveled around pointlessly in his chair, bored and frustrated, a combination that didn't fit well together. He knew, since he left the bridge, that Deanna would not be far behind. He wasn't even sure he wished her to join him, but knew she would and that was enough to convince him to talk.

To his pleasure (both at being right and having her there), the sweet _toor-tweet_, reminiscient of old doorbells, sounded, he barked, "Come in!" and in she walked.

_The new uniforms are really not much an improvement over the old_, Picard thought bitterly. The old uniforms were fully-colored and black, while these were only colored around the neck, a dull gray and black everywhere else. It really was not something he enjoyed wearing, much preferring the older uniforms, though they were now a thing of the past, as so many things were. _New ship, new uniform_.

"Captain," Troi said in a very calm tone, "you seem very distant."

"Well," he said, slightly annoyed, "you can read my emotions, so why bother asking me if I'm okay and just say you know something's troubling me, damnit!"

Troi took a step back in surprise. The captain had never barked at her like that before. His expression changed to one of regret. He sighed heavily. "Look, Deanna, I'm sorry. I'm just, under a lot of stress. That's a--." He was about to say "that's all", but paused. "No, that's not all. Deanna, I feel old. And not like I'm letting myself get out of shape old, or my back's hurting old. Just _old_. I'm well past my prime and, while I've managed to keep a good hold on youthful qualities, they're slipping away, and I'm helpless to stop them."

Deanna walked farther in and sat down on his couch, prompting him to do the same. When he did, she said, "You know, Captain, age can be a wonderful thing if you let it." Picard made a noise as if he didn't believe her. "No really, it can. Getting older increases wisdom, and is just another wonderful stage in life. Life for most sentient beings, humans in particular, is set in stages. Infancy to toddlery, then from childhood to teenagery. And from teenagery to your prime, and from your prime to midlife. And after midlife is the gentle stage of eldery. All stages have their merits and all stages have their faults. True, this is commonly seen as the final stage of life, but one that can be worthwhile if lived embracingly. And I'm not entirely convinced you are elderly. I think you feel this way simply because you have tried so hard to hold on to your prime and never fully embraced midlife. Do so, and know that one day you will be an old man and no matter how far or close it is, don't worry about it. You're one of the greatest, most admirable, and respectable man I've ever known and those qualities are not only accessible to men in their prime."

Picard smiled and sighed. "Oh, I suppose you're right. Nevertheless, I wish I was younger."

Deanna patted him gently on the thigh. "You know, I'm ordering you to put in at the nearest starbase for shore leave. The whole crew is in desperate need of it and I'm sure Geordi and Data can find a legitimate technical reason why we need dock."

Picard pursed his lips in thought. After a while, he spoke. "Yes, that should be possible. We have no major duties to fulfill. Yes, I think I'll do that." He tapped his comm badge. "Number One," he said into the silence.

William Riker's voice came in through the badge. "Yes, sir?"

"Tell me, what is the nearest starbase?"

"Umm, Starbase… actually Deep Space Six is closest, sir."

Picard exchanged the briefest of looks with Deanna before answering. "That'll be fine, number one. Put in for… two weeks of shore leave, I think. Yes, that should do. Have Geordi and Data run a complete diagnostic on the ship, a piece-by-piece breakdown. I want at least ten legitimate reasons why we need this shore leave other than psychological."

"Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?"

"Until another time. Picard out." _Well,_ he thought before continuing a discussion with Deanna, _if anything, this should be fun. Well deserved and long overdue._


	2. Chapter Two: Not in Klingon Nature

Chapter Two: Not in Klingon Nature

"Mr. Data, how long till we arrive at Deep Space Six?" Picard asked Data.

"Approximately twelve minutes and six point six seconds, sir. Would you like me to estimate further?"

"No, Mr. Data and you should know that by now."

"Yes, sir."

Picard caught Riker's bemused glance at his pacing, when he stopped and stared back. "Anxious, sir?"

Picard sat down in the captain's chair. Any other person would have turned red at this point, though not Jean-Luc Picard. Such a man had the experience and the pride and self-confidence to not hold with such cliches. "Yes, Number-One, I am anxious. It's surely been damn long enough since our last shore leave. I think I've earned it."

"Yes, sir, couldn't agree with you more, sir."

Picard punched a button on the pad on his armrest. "All hands, this is the Captain speaking. We are about to begin our two-week shore leave, and, as I'm sure you are all well-aware, as soon as we dock at Deep Space Six, I shall cease to be your captain for this fortnight. And to that extent, for the next ten minutes, the last ten minutes onboard, I am ceasing all formalities. There is to be no 'sir', 'captain', 'commander', or any other. It is first name basis only. Here's to you all – a fine crew for a fine ship, their shore leave well-earned! Enjoy yourselves. Picard out."

Riker smiled amusedly. Deanna grinned likewise. "They're ecstatic, Cap-" Picard made a face, "Jean-Luc. I think somebody just won the "best captain of the year" award."

Picard smiled and faced forward. "If only there was such a decoration."

"Sir," Lieutenant-Commander Worf said, "if I may ask, what are you planning on doing with your shore leave?"

"Yes, you may ask, but didn't I ask you to call me Jean-Luc?"

Worf mumbled his reply. "Such a thing would be unheard of on a Klingon vessel. Your superiors demand respect."

"For someone whose never been on a Klingon vessel, nor lived with Klingons, you seem remarkably assured of that fact," Picard replied, amused.

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, ah-ah," Picard cautioned, wagging a warning finger. "Don't have me throw you in the brig for insubordination."

Riker laughed silently. Deanna looked from Picard to Worf, unsure of what to make of it, though a small smile appeared lightly upon her lips.

"Forgive me, _Jean-Luc_," he said, mumbling the last part as if a disgusting swear word he hoped not to be overheard.

"Will, I shall be in my quarters, preparing to leave," Picard said. "Please inform me when we arrive. Thank you."

"You're not packed yet, Jean-Luc?" Riker asked, and from his tone he seemed to take considerable pleasure in using Picard's first name.

"Come now, you know me: A fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, living-on-the-edge man."

Riker smiled widely, barely withholding a laugh. "Regular daredevil."

"Damn straight!" Picard said with strong conviction, not able to conceal his own laughter. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I take my leave."

Picard stood with his one duffel bag clutched tightly in his right hand in front of the airlock, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Data came and joined him at the front of the ever-growing line.

"Greetings, Jean-Luc," Data said, clutching his own form of a suitcase: a small, clunky, plastic container the color of light-blue.

"Ah, Data, I see you've taken my orders to heart," Picard said with a smile.

"May I ask: Did you expect anything else, Jean-Luc? I mean, as an android, your orders are concrete. I won't ever break them until you say otherwise."

"I know, I know, the statement was rhetorical, Data." Picard stole a glance at the airlock, as if it could not open quick enough.

Data took note. "If I may say so, you seem exceedingly happy, Jean-Luc. You seem to be greatly anticipating the opening of the airlock. I never knew shore leave to mean so much to a Starfleet officer."

Picard's smile temporarily vanished. "Well now, you've surely never known a Starfleet officer like me, have you?"

"No, Jean-Luc, I cannot say that I have," Data conceded.

Picard's smiling resumed. Data and he stood in uninterrupted silence until he heard a loud commotion that, lo! and behold, turned out to be Riker and Worf arguing heatedly.

"Come on, Worf," Riker said angrily, "I expected better of a man of your caliber."

"I still stand on what I said earlier," Worf argued back.

"You disobeyed a direct order, lieutenant!" Riker said, pulling rank.

"So did you," Worf said quickly. Riker eyed him curiously and quizzically.

Picard stepped in. "Now what's all this hubbub about?"

"Worf here still refuses to address others as you have ordered and has actually pulled rank on those who have."

Picard looked to and fro Worf and Riker before speaking. "Come now! This is ridiculous! Absolute ludicrous behavior! Number-One, you know better than to argue over so minute a detail! And you Worf! You will not lecture nor bother others for following my orders! Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Worf and Riker replied reflexively.

"It's not in my nature," Worf said to Geordi LaForge's questioning of his strange behavior.

"I understand that," Geordi reasoned. "But it was just a little fun. You took it too seriously, and that's where you went wrong."

"That's an understatement," came a velvety voice from behind. Dr. Beverly Crusher strode into their quarters. "Can I come in?"

"Why certainly," said Geordi, whose voice immediately changed to one clearly meant to charm. "Tell me, what brings you to this side of the station?"

"Oh, I don't know," Crusher said in a likewise charming voice. She stretched out on the bed and turned to face Geordi, whose eyebrows raised high above his VISOR. "I was only wondering, actually Deanna and I, along with a few other female passengers if you men would-"

"Yes!" Geordi expostulated prematurely. "Oh, yes!"

Beverly continued to smile sultrily, though when she spoke again, it was a tone of deep seriousness. "Then we'll see you on Holodeck Alpha at 1500 hours? Very good."

"Excuse me?" Geordi asked, his senses beginning to come back.

Beverly rose from the bed and walked over to him. "A series of games challenging you men. You did just agree, did you not?"

Geordi recovered at top-speed. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Yeah, of course. Series of games. Well, I think you women are a bit out-of-your-league, but whose to say?"

Beverly smiled half-heartedly. "Well, we'll see," she said, walking towards the door, which opened immediately. "See you later, boys," she added as she head out and the door shut behind her.

Geordi turned back to a disgruntled-looking Worf. "What?" he asked innocently.

Worf grunted disapprovingly. "Human men," he growled. "Talk about following your nature."

"Are you saying you would have handled that situation differently?"

"Of course," Worf replied almost immediately. "For one, I am a Klingon and am not as… … _excited_ as you humans."

"Please," Geordi said, turning to consult a wall panel which measured the temperature, "you Klingons love it when women show interest in you."

"Do not make the mistake of thinking Dr. Crusher was showing interest," Worf said.

Geordi smiled. "Perhaps I did let my imagination run a little too rampant."

"That is an understatement," Worf replied with complete satisfaction. "And, for another," he continued, "Klingon men know better than to insult or underestimate their female counterparts."

"Like you said, she ain't my counterpart," Geordi argued.

"For sake of conversation, I'm saying it now," Worf replied, a small bit of temper detectable in his voice.

"Ha," Geordi retorted. "You said it, not me."


	3. Chapter Three: Quirky Quarrels

Chapter Three: Quirky Quarrels

Picard threw his bag onto the carpeted floor, eyeing the bed before him as though nothing in the world would make him happier than to lie down on it. It would be his first admittance of vacation.

He kicked off his shoes, his feet contracting and expanding comfortably, a warm relief spreading throughout. He turned around and was about to fall backwards onto the bed when he heard the faint _toor-tweet_ and groaned silently, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. "Come in," he said, unable to hide the annoyment from his voice.

To his surprise (and much delight), Beverly walked in, dressed not in a Starfleet uniform, rather, a shiny green dress. "Oh, Beverly!" he said in a truly happy voice. "Please, come and sit down."

Beverly raised her eyebrows questioningly at Picard, for whom it took a few minutes before he realized. "Oh, excuse me," he said, standing up from the bed and showing her to a seat around a small, round table. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Oh, I don't know," Beverly said, leaning her chin in her hand, the elbow of which was propped against the table. "Some of the female crewmembers, Deanna, and I were wondering if you would be interested in joining your fellow male officers against us in a series of games?"

Picard stared at her for a few seconds. _What beautiful eyes she has,_ he thought, _and such beautiful hair. I wonder_ – "What? Oh, I don't know." He got up and walked over to the wall, where a foot-long wedge was. "Tea, Earl Grey, hot," he barked. Tiny blue-and-white crystals – the same seen when transporting – appeared, sparkling and swirling before their eyes into a small glass cup filled with a deep brown liquid. Picard took it and walked back to his seat, where Beverly waited patiently. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes. I really don't think so, Beverly. I'm sorry, but I feel I need a real vacation where I can sleep and read, not do something very vigorous."

Beverly sighed. "I was afraid you might say that." She stood up. "Jean-Luc, as your physician, I am ordering you to participate in these games. I believe them to be exactly what the doctor, well, _I_, ordered. And you will do them, Doctor's orders."

"But-" Picard began.

"Uh-uh-uh," Beverly warned, shaking her right index finger cautioningly. "Now, Holodeck Alpha at 1500 hours. See you then." She strode from his office into the busying, bustling part of the station that was often called the "Guest Hotel".

Picard made a noise as she left, holding up a hand in protest, but as the doors closed behind her, he put it down, a bemused expression on his face. "How?"

William Riker stretched out on his bed, sighing in great relief. "My word, this is comfortable," he said to no one. The door rang. "Come in," Riker said. In walked Data. Riker sat up. "Well, hello, Data. What can I do for you?"

"What you can do for me?" Data asked, a puzzled expression appearing on his face. "I thought you would know."

Riker furrowed his brow. "Data, what're you talking about?"

"Dr. Crusher," Data said, "she told me to meet you and her in here."

"She didn't tell me," Riker said. "But while we wait for the old doc, can I interest you in a card-game?"

"_Which_ card-game?" Data said. Riker shrugged.

"We can pick one. Here," he went over to the replicator and pushed a few buttons on the touchpad, then said, in a clear and crisp voice, "Deck of playing cards. Earth. Circa 2001. 52 cards plus 2 Jokers."

A red-colored deck appeared before him, crisp, clean, and brand new. "Ah," Riker said, picking the deck up in his hands, "nothing quite like a newly-replicated deck of cards."

Judging by his smile, Data surmised Riker was making a joke. "Hee, hee, ha," Data said in a high-pitched voice hitherto alien to Riker. Riker shot him a quizzical look, clearly surprised.

"Data," Riker said slowly, "if you don't mind my asking: What the hell was that?"

"A laugh, or at least, my interpretation of one. Was it not correct?"

Riker laughed loud and hard. "That's what a laugh should sound like."

Data's face was still as stone. "Hmm, impressive, Commander. Perhaps you could also help me with another human trait I am trying to master?" Riker shrugged. "I have taken notice of how you humans attract one another. A lot seems to be about the way one holds one's self. I have also noticed that you especially attract those of the opposite sex. Perhaps you could demonstrate how?"

Riker felt the bottom of his jaw involuntarily drop. "Ah," said Data pointlessly and he reached over and lifted Riker's chin so that his mouth closed.

Riker came to his senses. He smiled weakly. "Maybe another time." Data nodded and sat back down at the table, though just as he did, Beverly Crusher and, most unexpectedly, Deanna Troi, walked in without ringing the door chime.

"Hello Will, Data," Deanna greeted them. She took up the seat next to Riker, whose face had lit up in the same winning smile it always bore whenever greeted by his Imzadi, Troi. Beverly took the seat beside Data.

"How're you Data?" Beverly asked, placing a caring hand on his shoulder.

"I am functioning within normal parameters. May I ask a favor?"

Beverly smiled. "Of course you can, Data."

"I need help with imitating a certain human function that has thus far escaped me. I have noticed --."

"So!" exclaimed Riker, who had, up till then, not paid attention to the conversation, but had stopped Data just in time. "What brings you two lovely ladies to my quarters?"

"A proposal," Deanna said.

Riker beamed again. "Oh, Deanna, there's no need to ask, you'll always have my heart. But you know the man should really be the one to do it."

Deanna smiled half-heartedly. "Not that kind of proposal, Will."

Beverly stood up. "A match, the men versus the women in a series of games."

"Excuse me, Doctor," Data said, "but by my calculations, the teams would be uneven. The amount of women aboard the Enterprise is not equal to the amount of men. Perhaps aboard the station? Calculating…"

"Uh, Data?" Riker said, and when Data looked up, Riker gestured his hand as a blade across his throat, shaking his head.

"We will be going by senior officers," Beverly said.

"Then if you are indeed going by senior officers alone, you would be down two to four, five counting me."

"Only we won't be counting you," Beverly said. "You will be on our team, which should even the odds a bit."

Data nodded. "Perhaps."

"And," Deanna said, "we've recruited two other female officers from the station whom we feel would help even the odds."

"So the real question is," Beverly said with a devious grin etched across her face. "Are you in?"

Riker and Data exchanged glances then looked up at Deanna and Beverly and, as one, said, "When do we start?"


	4. Chapter Four: First Round Fumbles

Chapter Four: First Round Fumbles

Picard stood outside the men's locker room doors, his bag clutched in his hand, now only full of extra gym clothes and toiletries. _I can't believe I allowed myself to get swept up into all this. Oh well, I can't back out now, I _am _on doctor's orders._ Truthfully, he could've refused had he really wanted to. Maybe he _did _want to be a part of all this, if only to prove to himself he was still young enough to compete with the best of them.

He walked towards the door and stepped inside. Immediately, he was greeted by the high-pitch of sonic showers and the smell of sweat. Normally, men and women's locker rooms would be one and the same, though Beverly and Deanna had insisted upon this for unknown reasons. He spotted Riker and made for him. Will smiled warmly and offered his captain a hand to shake.

Picard, glad to see Will not treat him as his superior officer, shook the extended welcome. "Dragged into this, as well, hmm?"

Riker smiled brightly. "Actually, I volunteered. It sounded fun."

"Oh," said Picard lowly.

"But I have a feeling that Dianna and Beverly sold it better than it was," Riker said. Picard smiled.

"So," he said, gesturing to the locker besides Riker's, "I'll take this one." He put his bag in the open locker-door.

Geordi came up behind them and rested a hand on Riker's shoulder. "I just found out," he said conspiratorially, "the first game's three-on-three virtual dodgeball with alternating teams."

"Unusual choice," Picard said. "I thought we were going to play contact sports."

"We are," Data said from behind them. Of all the people in the room at that very moment, he looked the most out of place and ridiculous – by far. His pale skin and stiff composure always looked slightly odd, though when dressed in workout clothes, looked even stranger. "I have uploaded the list of games and details upon each one, including suggestions on how to improve gameplay."

"Data," Riker said, "wouldn't that give you a certain vantage point?"

Data did his impression of a quizzical face. "I suppose it might. Though this would already be true given my abilities as an android. That is why I was recruited for the side of the women."

"Nothing like an android to even out the sides," Geordi joked. "I'll see you two on the court." He walked to the end of the hall, turned left, and disappeared from sight.

"Well then," Picard said, clearing his throat. "Let's be on with it."

"Uh, uh," Riker said, wagging a finger at Picard. "The proper term is," he cleared his throat exaggeratedly for dramatic effect. "Let the games begin."

Beverly adjusted her outfit as she walked out onto the court, Deanna beside her.

A siren sounded as the familiar monotonous tones of the voice of the computer rang out over the court. "Virtual dodgeball – first match. Rules: no crossing the line, no usage of anything but your batons to hit the electric sphere. Players, pick up your batons and stand in the positions designated." They all did as told and then took up their positions. "Net-Field activated." A thin, purplish-red net materialized between the two sides, held there by two wedges, pulsating at a constant rate.

Picard stood at the front, just before the net-field. He gazed down at his baton. It looked somewhat like a phaser, yet held none of its potency. He held his thumb above the trigger button. "Ready yourselves," the computer/referee said. "Begin."

A bright blue ball had suddenly been generated in front of the field. It attached itself to Picard's held-out baton. He waved it in front of his eye, deciding as to whom he would be aiming for. He chose Beverly, for, after all, she had been the one whose fault it had been that he was there. He fired the ball. It beelined for the doctor, who dove out of the way, letting the digital ball bounce and eventually roll around on the court. Deanna picked it up. "Beginning remaining balls," rang the computer's voice. Suddenly, three more balls materialized, one more to the females, and two more to the men. Riker and Worf took hold of them, flanking Picard and Geordi. They shot the balls at Deanna and Data, who moved with alarming speed and shot the ball back with remarkable efficiency. However, given the reflexes granted to a Klingon, Worf easily dodged the ball. Picard picked up a stray ball and shot it at an unsuspecting Beverly, whose game belt glowed red, meaning she was in jail. She proceeded to the rectangular outline neighboring the men's side. The blue glow and hum of a forcefield rang as soon as she was in. Only the balls could penetrate it and set her free.

Deanna shot towards her, though Riker made a running jump and caught the ball in his baton. He fired it back at her. Picard dodged a shot from Data. Deanna dived and rolled. Rising, she grabbed a ball with her baton and fired it at unsuspecting Geordi, who was forced into jail, though was freed by a tag-team of Riker and Picard (one distracting Data, the other freeing Geordi). During this, Deanna took up the opportunity and freed Beverly, though was put in jail herself by Worf, who was, in turn, hit by Data.

The game went on much the same way, back-and-forth, before Data and Beverly went on a streak, getting Riker, Worf, Geordi, leaving only Picard.

Picard shot for the jail and dodged shots from Beverly who used her time wisely, taking careful aim. Data guarded the jail highly efficiently. Picard met Beverly's eyes and they stood there for a second, then each made their move. Beverly dived to her right, firing a clear shot at Picard, who dived to his own right, sending a shot towards the jail, but he was hit. Though if the ball made it to the jail, the game would continue, however Data made a huge leap and caught the ball, ending the game.

The forcefields came down as the computer read out the score. Everyone was completely drenched in sweat. "Perhaps continuing tomorrow would be a good idea," Picard suggested hopefully. Beverly nodded as she wiped her forehead clean of sweat.

Picard and the other men made their way to their locker rooms, their tails between their legs. They had lost round one.


	5. Chapter Five: What to do Next?

Chapter Five: What to do Next?

Picard entered the locker room drenched in sweat. _What a workout!_ How could he continue? He grabbed a towel, doused himself off and moved towards the sonic showers.

He stepped in front of one and it turned on, joining its fellows in high-pitched whines. He immediately began to cool off. Riker came and occupied the one beside him a few minutes later.

They gave each other the briefest of nods. "What next?" Picard asked.

Riker shot a bemused glance at Picard, though brief. "Deanna and I were just discussing that. She seems to think a game of target practice should be next."

Picard clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Not another virtual game, Will," he said scathingly. "I want a real sport, a real competition."

"That's what I thought we should have," Riker said. "I think Beverly partly agrees with us, at least, that's what I could gather from bits and pieces of their conversations."

"I should hope so," Picard said. "As chief medical officer, she should know real sports are much more physical than target practice."

"In all fairness, it does work up a sweat."

"Yes, well, the point of this contest was not to break a sweat, was it?"

"I thought you didn't even want to have this tournament, sir."

Picard opened his mouth to speak then looked at Riker, who held an amused smile. "Oh, wipe that smile off your face, Commander. Just because I didn't want to do it in the first place, doesn't mean that since I have to do it, I don't want it done right."

Riker nodded, his smile fading slightly. "No offense, sir, but that was really very hard to follow."

Picard was the one who smiled now. "For you and me both."

Picard and Beverly met for dinner that night at the Café Gagh – a supposedly delightful blend of Klingon and human cuisine. It was a quant little shop, with the cliched darkly lit atmosphere of a café, mixed with the odor of what Picard recognized as Rokeg blood pie, the stench of not even hundreds of cups of sweet smelling coffees could quench. As he walked in, his nose immediately rifled in disgust, though, upon noticing the many Klingons dining there, he began breathing through his mouth.

He walked up to the waiter at the front. "Good evening, sir," said the waiter. "How many?"

Picard waved his hand and shook his head. "No, no, I'm late, she should already be here. A table for two, uh, Crusher."

The waiter checked his datapad. "Um, sorry, sir, there's no Crusher for two. There is, however, a Crusher for four. Could that possibly be your table?"

"For four? Are you certain?"

"That's what it looks like, sir. Could be a mistake."

"Yes, perhaps," Jean-Luc said, his brow furrowing ever more.

"Jean-Luc," called a familiar voice to the right of him. He turned, knowing immediately who was thither. And, sure enough, the delicate face of Beverly Crusher came into sight. She motioned for him to join her. He thanked the waiter and moved towards her. She sat alone, though at a table set for four.

She stood up when he arrived at the table and gave him a hug and a kiss upon the cheek. They then sat down. "So, a table for four, hmm?" he asked bluntly.

Beverly blinked furiously for a second. "What? Oh, right, of course. Yes, I've invited Deanna and Will. Didn't I tell you?"

Picard cleared his throat. "No, that's quite all right. So, I believe congratulations are in order on your win today."

Beverly snorted derisively. "Please, _my_ win? We won today in no thanks to me. Out of such a small team, you'd think all members would make a difference and be at least partly responsible for a victory or loss?"

"Oh, but you were," Picard said. She gave him a cold, piercing look, as a cat would observe its would-be prey. Picard had indeed been on the verge of saying, _'you helped by staying in the jail so they could win,'_ yet had wisely refrained. "Each member of the team should get his or her due. Without any of the cogs, the clock just won't work."

Beverly smiled in spite of herself. She shrugged playfully. "I suppose every member is also responsible for a loss, too?"

Picard knew this to be a jab at the fact that he hadn't said he'd been terrible too, though shrugged it off. "Yes," he said with a candid smile. "All are responsible for a loss, as well." He glanced behind him. "Speaking of being part of a losing team," he said quietly to Beverly as Will and Deanna approached and they stood up to greet them.

Smiles, hugs, and warm welcomes went all around. It was not long after they had sat down that the waiter who had waited on Picard came to take their orders. In a more advanced restaurant, they might've inputted their orders into padds placed at their table. _Though,_ thought Picard, _perhaps the presence of waiters was done purposely, much like at Ten-Forward_.

After they'd ordered, Picard did away with the trail that lead around the bush. "So tell me, what is to be the next game, that is, if you don't mind me asking?"

He saw Beverly and Deanna exchange the briefest of glances, ere Deanna spoke. "I had wanted the next game to be target practice, with each team choosing its best three to go in five-minute intervals. You then add up all their points, then the next team goes and whichever team comes up with the most points, wins."

"A curious idea, counselor," Picard said truthfully. The idea had intrigued him, yet the wanting of physical sporting won over. "Only I had expressed to Will earlier today, my wish that we play a contact sport. Perhaps croquet? Or show jumping?"

"Or baseball," Riker suggested with a gleaming interest in his eyes ignited at the mention of his favorite sport, unequivocal at the table save for Picard's clear love of show jumping. Or was it croquet?

"I never cared much for baseball, to be honest," Beverly said. The others did no attempt to strangle their surprise. "Playing it, that is. Jack loved it, and so does Wes, but I only liked watching them playing it."

"Be lucky we're on Deep Space Six and not Deep Space Nine, Bev," Riker said with a chortle.

"Yeah, well," Beverly said before breaking out in a small bout of laughter herself.

Deanna, although probably not understanding the joke (having never known much about DS9 save for what she gathered in the holonews), couldn't help but smile for she could feel the others' happiness – all except for Picard. She stared confusedly at Picard, and then it hit her. Benjamin Sisko was in charge of DS9, and she surely knew the history between the two. Jean-Luc had never forgiven himself for the damage he'd caused as Locutus of Borg.

"Anyways," Beverly said, bringing Deanna out of her thoughts. "Personally, I'd had my hopes on a game of soccer. That sport was, at one time, the most played on Earth."

"A fine sport, surely," Picard agreed, nodding.

Riker looked from his captain to his doctor and nodded, as well. "I like soccer." He turned to his Imzadi. "Deanna?"

Deanna shrugged. "Well, I guess it's okay with me."

"Great," Riker said, his large voice booming out across the restaurant. "Soccer it is." He picked up his glass of wine and held it in the middle of the table, signalling a cheer.

The others lifted their glasses and lifted them till they touched his own, and as one, they said, "Soccer it is," and drank.


	6. Chapter Six: Practical Jokes

Chapter Six: Practical Jokes

The game of soccer was set to take place in three days. Determined not to be the ones on the losing side this time, Picard had "ordered" his team to do extra training matches nearly all day. They spent the first night drinking synthe-hol in the pub nearest their holosuite. The second night, as planned on the first night, they were going to psych-out their opponents.

Now, usually, Picard would be above such catankerous play, however, upon a suggestion by Worf and encouragement by the rest, he reluctantly agreed. "In Klingon tradition," had said Worf after his third drink (having slipped liberal amounts of Romulan ale into his faux-brewers from a hidden flask), "it is said the one who not only triumphs physically but also triumphs psychologically is a winner."

"You mean _mentally_," corrected Riker. He took another swig of his drink.

Worf growled contemptously, angry that Riker had dared to think he'd gotten a Klingon proverb wrong. "_psychologically_, sir, I did not mispeak. We must play with our opponents heads in order to get the full advantage."

"That's a bit underhanded, Worf," Picard said, his sixth martini left untouched. "I'm not sure I'm inclined to agree."

"C'mon, Captain," Geordi said, a large grin on his face – one worn only by those who are slowly approaching an advanced state of _piss-drunkenness_. "They took Data, our greatest offense, and against him, especially in a game that requires agility, strength, and speed to dominate. Our best defense would be to stick Worf and Commander Riker on him. Or… we could psych them out beforehand, which might make them play worse."

"If you're so brass as to think that you can get to Data on a pyschological level, you are sorely mistaken," Picard said with a strong tone of finality.

"Depends on the kind of problem you present him with, sir," Geordi said deceitfully.

"You see, Data can't be bothered by emotional or social problems. However, you give him a quandary, an insolvable obstacle, and it will keep his mind off the game."

"But Data can multitask better than even the ship's computers," Riker pointed out.

"Well," Geordi said, "I know Data well enough to be able to devise a problem that would psych him out as well as Deanna and the doctor."

"Explain," Picard said flatly.

Riker and Worf sat up, their interest clearly piqued. "Data can compute at only a certain speed – 60 trillion operations per second to be semi-exact. If I could somehow devise a program that would present him with a problem that would literally take his entire brain to solve. It wouldn't hurt him in any way," he added, noting vast looks of concern.

"I'm still not made-up," Picard said. "Perhaps, I don't know."

"It might actually give us a win," Riker said, a wry smile playing devilishly across his face. "And who knows, a win on our part might just let them let _us_ choose the next game. Croquet, anyone? Show-jumping?"

Picard gave Riker a look. He saw what his first officer was trying to do, but for some odd reason, it worked. "Very well, Number-One. I'll do it." They all smiled with excitement. "And, I may have a good one for Beverly."

They had splitten up. Geordi and Worf had taken on Data, Picard and Riker Beverly and Deanna. Geordi and Worf had not needed to be discreet.

Riker and Picard, however, had to be truly stealth. Picard had voiced his fears that Deanna could sense danger in her sleep. "Not if she's dreaming about me," Riker said jokingly, "because when I'm with a woman, I _always_ get her full attention."

Picard merely eyed his first officer at first, then broke out into a wide smile. "Yes well," he said, "let's all hope she fancies a dream with you tonight. Shall we?"

They had just arrived onto Deanna and Beverly's floor. Quickly they stepped off the turbolift and onto the carpeted floor. Picard felt the softness of the ground beneath his feet, and he immediately knew the carpet had not been made on Earth. Even through his thin-soled shoes, he could feel the roughness of the fabric chosen and at once he knew from whence it had come: it was Klingon.

Riker stepped off the turbolift soon after his captain and yawned tiredly. "Well then," he said, "let's go."

Geordi pulled on his sweater. "Something the matter?" Worf asked him.

"No," Geordi sang exasperatedly. "It's just these damn sweaters never fit right." He pulled on it again and then turned back to the door. "Okay, let's do this." He reached for the buzzer button. The familiar chime rang softly and, a bit sooner than expected, Data's monotonous voice instructed them to come in. Geordi pushed the button below the doorbell and the door swung open. He entered, Worf behind him.

Data was sprawled out on his sofa, a datapad in his lap. He smiled as they entered and got up. "Welcome Geordi, Worf," he said. "What can I do for you? It is curious."

"What's curious, Data?" Geordi asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Well, while I am incapable of sleep and therefore am required to keep none of what you would refer to as 'normal hours', you and Worf are both humanoid beings whose bodies require a certain amount of sleep each day. Human custom would have me ask you as to why you are out at such a perspectively late hour."

"Well, you see, we have a problem," Geordi said, moving forward. He presented a small information chip to Data, who took it, and looked up, his positronic network of a brain generating a puzzled expression.

"A true riddle," Worf said. "And riddles are only good for solving, for the warrior that can solve true riddles has completed his mental training. Kahless was a master when it came to the solving of riddles."

"An incorrect statement, Lieutenant," Data said. "Kahless was renown for his ability to decode ciphers and read scriptures previously thought to be unreadable. His talents never stretched as far as solving riddles, as far as I know, and I do believe my knowledge of Klingon history and mythology far outweighs even your own."

Data said this with no hint of a threat, only as a mere fact, for Data didn't lie and nor did he beat around the bush. "Kahless fought off an entire army single-handedly –," Worf began, but Data cut him off.

"-At Three Turn Bridge," he finished. Worf scowled. "If you are indeed intending to challenge me, I would greatly advise against it," Data warned.

"Anyways," Geordi said loudly, drawing attention back to himself. "If you could please help us solve this it would really be helpful."

"Yes, of course, I will see to it immediately."

"Thanks a lot Data, and now we've really got to be going."

"Good night, then," Data said and he turned and walked towards his datapad; he sat back down on the sofa and plugged in the chip, not a second glance at Geordi and Worf, whom were watching him; only briefly however as they soon turned, knowledge of their misdeed clutched solemnly within their hands, and left.

Picard and Riker had reached their destination. Picard pulled out a large black box, which he placed over the door keypad. A light on the box turned green. Picard then pushed the top button and the doors to the dormitory slid open. "Bollocks," Picard said. The box was supposed to silence the door as well.

"Bollocks?" Riker whispered. "Watch it, Number-One," Jean-Luc warned. They creeped into the room, where there stood a three-pronged table, a coat rack, two replicators, a sofa, a loveseat, three chairs, two stools, and a closet.

"Why is it always nicer in the women's room?" Riker asked, annoyed.

"Never spoke a truer word, Number-One," Picard said, nodding. They made their way into the bedrooms, where Deanna and Beverly slept soundlessly. They approached Deanna first and took out the holographic-generators. Deanna looked beautiful, asleep under the navy blue quilt.

She turned over and they backed away. "Oh, Will," she murmured. Will's face lit up with a bright grin. "She'll definitely stay asleep now," he said confidently. All-of-a-sudden, she turned and awoke, sitting up. Immediately, Riker and Picard had hit the deck, falling to the floor before she had opened her eyes. Will muttered a curse distastefully. He knew Deanna could very easily sense two other people in the dormitory and could probably even tell who they were, especially her _Imzadi_. Yet, strangely, she merely fell back asleep. They waited till they heard a faint snore before rising again.

As quickly and quietly as they could, they put the generators on, one behind her left ear, one on her neck, and one beside her right eye. Moving over to Beverly, who likewise looked peaceful and stunning, her thick locks of gorgeous reddish-orange hair flowing beside her scantily-clad body. Picard felt immediately uncomfortable, having seen Beverly in such compromising clothing. He felt _unchilvarous_, though did not voice his opinions.

"Let's just get on with this," was the closest he came. Riker shot him a quizzical look. "It'll be all better once we've done it," he explained testily.

They quickly finished and left the dorm, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with what they had done, though neither said a word about it.

They bid each other good night and departed into their separate rooms, unaware that the shock of a lifetime waited for both of them once they arrived.

Picard yawned and entered his suite. He walked in and the door shut. His eyes shot open immediately upon laying sight on the scene that stood before him: Twenty Borg congregated in his room, all awaiting his return. The nearest one came at him. He turned round, hoping to exit the room when he found that the door had locked. He cursed loudly and grabbed a nearby phaser, though it wouldn't fire. "Damnit!" he said angrily. Fear crept up on him. _No, not again,_ he thought. _How could they've found me? I won't be Locutus of Borg anymore_. "I won't be Locutus of Borg anymore," he said forcefully as the twenty or so Borg approached him zombie-esque.

"I think you will," came a voice. Picard turned. He knew that voice. It had been the only one he'd heard when he was a Borg. It was the Queen. "No!" he cried and he ran headfirst into the door. It still wouldn't budge. He didn't have a choice. He could not go back to being a Borg. He grabbed the sharpest thing nearest to him – a letter opener – and took it within his hands, and lifted it up, and shoved it downwards, and stabbed himself through the chest… and then woke up.

He lay half-inside his room, half-outside, sweating profusely. He stood up, wiping the drool and sweat from his face and moved to the hall. He looked round, though didn't need look far, for Geordi, Worf, and Will were walking fastly towards him. They all met outside his room.

"What just happened?" Picard asked. "Did the same thing happen to you three?"

"If you mean a strange and horrible nightmare while walking into our rooms, then yes, the same thing happened to us."

"How?" Riker asked, though Picard thougt he knew the answer, and sure enough, not twenty feet from the gathered group, Deanna and Beverly stood laughing hysterically.

"I think the girls got us before we could get them," Jean-Luc said. The other three turned to where he was looking. They all laid eyes on Deanna and Beverly, both of whom waved cheerfully at them.

They then all turned back to each other, huddling close, shocked far beyond belief. Worf tilted his neck to the side, cracking both it and then his fingers. "Revenge is a dish best served cold," he said icily.


	7. Chapter Seven: TrashTalking Miracles

Chapter Seven: Trash Talking Miracles

Deanna and Beverly lounged about their shared suite with the utmost ease. It felt good to be this bad. "I think we scared them alright," Deanna said.

"You don't think it might have been a bit cruel, do you?" Beverly asked. She sipped a bit of hot coffee as she talked.

"Cruel? This isn't fun and…" Deanna didn't finish. They laughed, knowing full well the end of the quote and their current situation. "Well, I wouldn't worry about it, is all I can tell you."

"Still, you didn't _sense_ anything did you? Think they're up for retaliation?"

"We are talking about four men here, right?" Deanna asked. "Of course they're planning for retaliation. All we have to do is beat them on the soccer field tomorrow."

"The last thing we have to do is beat them on the soccer field tomorrow," Worf said angrily, pacing. He had taken the prank harder than any of them.

"Easy there, Worf," Geordi said. They were all couched in Picard's quarters, Riker lying on the bed, his head propped up on his hands at the end, near where Picard sat.

"We need a diversion," Picard said.

"We've already taken care of that with Data," Geordi reminded him.

"Yes, well, it'd be a poor sight indeed if we then proceed to lose to women," Picard retorted.

"When did we all become so sexist?" Riker asked, sitting up. "Isn't this the 24th century, where we believe in equality and everything can be done the same?"

"Oh shut up, Number One," Picard said angrily. "You wouldn't want to lose to them same as us."

"True," Riker said with a smile, "but not because they're women. Only in the spirit of competition."

"If you were any smugger, I'd be forced to let Worf deck you," Picard said, nodding to the Klingon who was gritting his teeth and clenching his fists in extraordinary restraint. "As he's so eager to do."

"I say we just get some sleep and worry about tomorrow when it comes. We don't have time to pull another prank before tomorrow, so I say we wait. Bide our time, think of something," Geordi said. "Something we can really get them with."

None of them could argue with Geordi's logic. Any revenge pranking would have to wait until after the game.

It was a beautiful day on the holographic soccer field. The men wore red uniforms, the women blue. Picard met Beverly at the center of the field.

"Ready for a nice fun game of football," Picard asked, twirling the black-and-white soccer ball in his hands.

"My word, Jean-Luc, do you really still call it that?" she asked in surprise.

"Afraid so," he answered. "Never much cared for American football. Not that it's lasted."

"Could say the same for your team," Beverly retorted.

"You better watch it," Picard said in earnest, "or we might just _kick_ your team across the field."

Beverly smiled through the awkward silence. She bid Jean-Luc good game and they headed back to their respective teams. Riker took Picard aside. "If you need help with the trash talk, next time, just ask."

Picard gave him an angry look. The two moseyed on over and joined Geordi and Worf.

"You all ready?" Picard asked.

"Oh yeah, I'm ready," Geordi said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Leave none alive," Worf grunted.

"You do know you won't actually be killing anybody, right?" Riker asked.

"Let's get out there and—" Picard began, but Riker coughed to get his attention. Made a face: remember what I just told you? Picard nods to Riker that he can take it from there.

"Let's just have a good game," Riker finished for Picard. "Do our best, but make sure that 'our best' is better than them."

"Don't worry, with Data out of the picture, they'll play like a bunch of girls."

They broke, but as soon as they all stood up from the huddle, Data walked towards them, looking pale and goofy in his blue uniform. He handed Geordi back the datapad.

"Here's the riddle you gave me, Geordi," he said. "Highly complex, very elaborate, but in the end, solved."

"You solved it?" Geordi asked, unable to hide his disbelief.

"How?" Worf growled angrily.

"The riddle itself exceeded my allowed parameters, as well as the ship's, so I conducted an extensive search using the starbase's interconnected Federation database and was able to see the answer correct once it fed it back to me, as it's an older riddle and I was not the first to solve it."

"Meaning?" Worf asked, confused.

Data leaned in. "I looked it up."

He walked away, leaving Worf and Geordi looking like they had egg on their face. Worf leaned closer to Geordi and whispered, "Did you know he could do that?"

Before Geordi could answer, Riker walked up behind them and placed his arms around them in a bear hug, his tone full of irony. "Way to go, men." He patted their back. "Starfleet officers. _Starfleet officers_."

The game did not go well for the men. Data was a fierce soccer player, though as it turned out so were all the men. Picard surprised everyone, scoring two goals by the end of it. Unfortunately, none of them could goalie against Data's aggressive offense. To the men's four goals, the girls and Data were able to answer with seven.

The combined senior officers of the Enterprise met in the middle of the field following the game. All were breathing heavy and sweating. All except Data.

"We won," Deanna triumphed, "we get pick of next game."

"And it is?" Riker asked. He had had his pride hurt when, halfway through the game, Deanna had managed to steal the ball from him and keep it away all the way to the goal, where she proceeded to score the only goal by their team not made by an android.

"This isn't very relaxing," Picard said, annoyed. This was not his kind of fun.

"Don't worry, Jean-Luc," Beverly teased, "we'll make it something you like."

"Rowing," Deanna said after a nod of confirmation from Beverly. Picard's ears perked up.

"Yes, Jean-Luc, we know," Beverly said, correctly interpreting his excited gaze. "But we'll still win."

"Not by the blood left on this field, you won't," Worf said. No one dared tell him there was no blood on the field.

"Three days," Deanna said.

"Three days, Picard confirmed. The girls and Data left, leaving the men, all feeling heavily disenchanted.

"We need a secret weapon," Geordi said.

"We need a miracle," Riker gasped between heavy breaths.

"If we lose again," Picard warned, starting to walk off, "I'm seeing to it you're all reassigned to the largest waste disposal ship I can find."

"Then let's not lose," Riker said.

"Meeting in two hours, my quarters," Picard said. "This time bring ideas." He cast a disbelieving glance at Worf and Geordi. "Not riddles."


End file.
